The fish and game were below in
the refrigerators. Simon let the cylinder fall on to a slab; Albert
turned a tap, and immediately the cylinder was surrounded by clouds of
steam. The phenomenon was like some alchemical and mysterious operation.
And the steam, as it rose and spread abroad in the immense, pale
interior, might have been the fumes of a fatal philtre distilled by a
mediaeval sorcerer.
'I hope it won't blow up!' Simon ejaculated.
'Not it!' said Albert. 'Let's have a look at it now.'
Albert had a mechanical bent, and, with the aid of a tool, he soon
discovered that the cylinder was divided into two parts. In the lower
part was burning charcoal. In the upper, carefully closed, was paraffin.
The division between the two compartments consisted of some sort of
soldering lead, which the heat of the charcoal had gradually been
melting.
'So when this stuff had melted,' he explained to Simon, 'the paraffin
would run into the charcoal, and there would be a magnificent flare-up.'
They looked at one another, amazed, astounded, speechless.
And each knew that on the tip of the other's tongue, unuttered, was the
word 'Ravengar.'
'But why was it put in the lift?' asked Simon.
'Because,' said Albert promptly, 'a lift-well is the finest possible
place for a fire.
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